


The Distance Between Us

by yodasyoyo



Series: 1008 tumblr followers! A.K.A. The Fluffy Assholes Collection. [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: “It’s like I’ve travelled back in time and it’s five years ago. You wanna tell me that this is private property?” Stiles grumbles, “Or should we just skip ahead to the part where you throw me up against the nearest hard surface and smolder at me.”





	The Distance Between Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pardonthelitany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pardonthelitany/gifts).



> It's based on a prompt that was sent in by the lovely pardonthelitany for my 1008 tumblr followers celebration:
> 
> The prompt was:  
> “This is fun.”  
> “Seriously, we’re trying to hide a body.”

Stiles is whistling, fucking whistling. Derek pauses, shovel in hand and stares across at him unimpressed.

“What?” Stiles says, flashing him a grin. “This is fun!”

“Seriously?” Derek hisses. “We’re trying to hide a body.”

“Eh--” He shrugs. “Forgive me if I’m not tearing up over the wendigo that scratched my arm up while it was trying to kill me. Besides--” He stabs his own shovel in the ground and leans on it. “This is just like the old days, right?”

“Is it?” Derek says grimly. He forces the blade of his shovel in to the soft earth and levers out a huge chunk of soil, depositing it on the edge of the hole. _The old days_ , he thinks to himself, bitterly. Back when Scott and Stiles could barely stand to be around him, and he was living out of the burned out shell of his family home. He can’t say he misses those days all that much. Almost everything in his life is better now. Almost.

“What’s up, Sourwolf?” Stiles says. “You look like someone stole your favorite chew toy.”

Derek flicks earth at him, and it spatters up his leg.

“Hey!” Stiles says flailing backwards. “These are new jeans.”

“Help me dig,” Derek says. “And stop wasting time.”

“It’s like I’ve travelled back in time and it’s five years ago. You wanna tell me that this is private property?” Stiles grumbles, “Or should we just skip ahead to the part where you throw me up against the nearest hard surface and smolder at me.”

Derek almost drops his shovel but he manages to catch it in time and forces himself to concentrate on the task at hand: The monotony of it, the smell of the earth, the slight ache in his back and arms. After a moment Stiles lifts his own shovel and joins back in with a beleaguered sigh.

The thing is, there is one thing that Derek misses about the old days. One big thing. One hundred and forty seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, to be exact, who wields sarcasm like a weapon and runs without fear into places most werewolves fear to tread. For the last three years Stiles has been at Columbia, returning to Beacon Hills only sporadically. He comes home at Christmas and for a couple weeks every summer, and on one memorable occasion, for two weeks in February because the Sheriff got shot in the arm attending a call out at a convenience store that went dangerously awry. His dad had been fine, but that hadn’t stopped Stiles catching the red-eye back home to fuss over him.The point is, Stiles isn’t here enough, and Derek misses him terribly. Painfully. Selfishly.

Almost without realizing it he’d been pinning all his hopes on Stiles returning to Beacon Hills after college, but this summer, when he’d drifted back home he’d been talking about grad school in Maryland and Derek’s heart had sunk. Stiles wasn’t coming back here, of course he wasn’t. Beautiful, brilliant Stiles was too good for this place, that was the truth of it. He deserved far more than a town as broken and empty as Beacon Hills. He definitely deserved more than digging a grave for a rabid wendigo in the dead of night eight miles out into the preserve. Unfortunately, sometimes it seemed as though experiences like that were all Beacon Hills had to offer, and it certainly couldn’t compete with college in New York, and the lure of grad school.

So that was that. Stiles was going to leave again, and Derek was going to continue on here as he always did. He was going to devote himself to the pack, and live at the apartment he moved into two years back, with it’s creaky bathroom door, and it’s view of the park, and the sea monkeys Scott’s daughter Ami had insisted on gifting him for his last birthday. And Derek will go to work at the Sheriff’s station, and meet up with Jordan and the guys on Friday evening to play poker, and Saturday nights he’ll have John over to watch the game, and he’ll definitely be fine. It’ll all be fine.

“Derek! Derek!” Stiles calls sharply, cutting in to Derek’s train of thought. “I think the hole is probably big enough now.” Derek looks up and winces. He’s been on autopilot, and what should be a shallow grave is now more of a pit, almost five feet deep and seven feet across.

“Yeah,” he says, grudgingly. “Maybe.”

Stiles smiles at him, teeth glinting in the light of the storm lamp they’ve been using to light their digsite. “Same old Derek,” he says.

Same old Derek. Same old Derek. The words ring through Derek’s head, playing on a loop. He scowls, but jumps out of the pit in one leap, and then turns round and offers Stiles his hand pulling him up easily, even though he probably could of climbed out by himself.

Once they’re both standing topside Derek tries to let go, but Stiles catches his hand, holds on to it firmly. “Are we okay?” he says, softly, eyes velvet brown in the lamplight.

“Yeah,” Derek says, fighting the urge to squirm. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles sighs. “You just seem-- distant.”

Derek snorts at that, finally wrenching his hand free from Stiles’ grip. Mutters, “Yeah. Because I’m the one who’s distant.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Derek hulks a shoulder. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He turns, goes to crouch down ready to heft the wendigo into the grave but Stiles clamps a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“No. Not nothing.” There’s a sharp edge to his tone, and his scent has gone sour with anger and confusion. “What do you fucking mean?”

“I don’t know, Stiles,” Derek says, resigned to his fate. He turns to face him, but can’t quite bring himself to make eye contact.. “Maybe I mean, I’m not the one who’s never here.”

“Are you serious right now? I’m at college!”

“I _know._ ”

“So what,” Stiles voice rises, “are you saying you think I don’t come back enough? That I’m--what exactly? Neglecting the pack?”

“No!” Nobody could make that claim. The moment any supernatural shenanigans kick off Stiles is organizing group video chats and hitting the books to help with research.He may not be present physically, but the moment the pack need him he does everything he can.

“Then what?” Stiles says, “My dad? Is that it? You think I’ve abandoned him?”

“No!” Derek snorts at the ridiculous suggestion. The Sheriff is always saying that what with texts, and phone calls and skype chats, he and Stiles communicate more now than they did when they lived together.

Stiles fingers dig into Derek’s arm a little tighter, Derek can feel the heat of them bleeding through his shirt. “Then enlighten me, jackass.”

“I told you. It doesn’t matter.”

They glare at each other a long moment. Derek feels his heart pick up in his chest, can feel sweat gathering at the nape of his neck. Stiles eyes narrow, and that isn’t a good look. Derek knows that look.

“You feel like I’ve abandoned _you,_ ” Stiles says, lips pursed.

“No,” Derek replies immediately, but it doesn’t sound convincing to his own ears. He wipes his hands off on his pants and ducks his head. “Come on. This thing isn’t going to bury itself.”

Stiles watches him as he crouches down by the Wendigo and starts to push. After a beat he joins him, and together they push the stiffened corpse into the pit. They shovel the loose earth back in silence, but Derek can’t help noticing the way Stiles eyes keep resting on him. Lingering. Thoughtful.

When he drops Derek off later that night he says, “I’m sorry.”

It’s so out of left field, Derek doesn’t know what to say, except, “Why?”

“Because,” Stiles shrugs, “I know I’m busy, what with college and grad school applications and whatever, but I still want to make time for the people who are important.”

Derek takes a moment to digest this, and even though it’s a chilly night, suddenly the Jeep feels too warm. “I think you do that already,” he says, fighting to keep his tone even.

Stiles arches an eyebrow. “Apparently not well enough, if you feel I’m being distant.”

“I--” Derek swallows. “I was being an asshole.”

“Maybe,” Stiles concedes. “Doesn’t mean there wasn’t some truth to it. I--” he hesitates.

Derek waits, heart in his throat.

“Now you’ve pointed it out, I’ll concede that maybe, just _maybe_ it’s possible I’ve been avoiding you. Just a little bit--” Stiles admits.

“W-Why?” It stings, even though Derek already knew.

Stiles scrubs one hand through his hair and laughs awkwardly. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

“Say what? What did I do?” Derek decides then and there that he will fix it. He’ll do anything to fix it. Is already mentally reviewing every interaction they’ve had in the past few months to try and work out what exactly he could have said or done. “Tell me!”

“Nothing!” Stiles explodes in a burst of movement, throwing his hands up in the air and then letting them fall into his lap. “It’s me. I-- I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Pressure me?”

“Poor choice of words. I guess I mean-- make you uncomfortable.”

“How?”

“You know,” he shrugs sheepishly. “Because I can be so intense with the people that I--” he trails off. Then says-- “And I know how uncomfortable I made Lydia back in the day, and I promised myself I would never do that to you. Ever. But if you feel like I’ve been distant then I’ve over-corrected and that’s on me. I know how much you value pack, how important is to you. So whatever you need Derek. Should we Skype more? Because I could--”

Derek holds up a hand cutting him off, his thoughts are scattered, his mind is blown. “Are you saying you have a crush on me?” he asks slowly.

Stiles laughs, one short sharp burst. “No! I’m saying I’m in love with you, dick. God, I can’t believe you’re actually making me spell it out.”

“You’re in love with me?” Derek says, stunned. “In love. With me.”

“That’s right. Keeps repeating it. Just like that. That’s great. Nothing like having my unrequited feelings dragged in front of my--”

“Stiles, I’m in love with you too,” Derek blurts.

Stiles double takes. “Wait. What?”

“I’m in love with you too."

Slack-jawed, Stiles stares at him. “Are you serious right now?”

“No,” Derek deadpans, “This is all an elaborate prank.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

They stare at each other. Derek can feel a slow smile creeping across his face, and knows it must mirror the one breaking across Stiles’. Without a second thought he leans across the center console, cups Stiles’ face in both hands and kisses him, slow and sweet.

When they finally break apart Stiles beams at him.

“You uh-- wanna come up?” Derek asks, nodding in the direction of his apartment building, and feeling both absurdly confident and painfully shy all at once.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

They scramble out of the jeep and when the meet on the sidewalk, Derek takes Stiles’ hand, threads their fingers together and squeezes tightly.

When the reach the top of the steps to Derek’s building, Stiles turns and looks around them, taking in the clear night sky, the crescent moon hanging overhead. He breathes out slowly, exultantly, and says, “This was such a great first date.”

Derek stops half way through pushing the door to his building open and turns to look at him. “This was not a date.”

“Of course it was a date!” Stiles says, scowling at him. “We went for a long moonlight walk in the preserve, spent the night under the stars--”

“Burying a body.”

“Details,” Stiles sniffs.

“It wasn’t a date,” Derek insists.

“Agree to disagree.”

“No.”

“Are you seriously going to argue with me about this? Is this any way to begin our epic love story?”

“Please. Our love story began a long time ago.”

“Now that,” Stiles says, with a grin, “is something we definitely can agree on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who leaves kudos or comments. It's really appreciated. 
> 
> Come join me on [tumblr!](http://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, a disclaimer about the title of this series of fics:  
> When I say fluffy assholes, I don't mean buttholes covered in lint. I mean that these fics are fluffy and the characters are assholes. I feel this needs to be stated. For the record, my tumblr followers are all awesome, and to my knowledge, in no way assholes, fluffy or otherwise.


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